


The First Spirit Of Christmas

by Sashataakheru



Series: Taskmaster Advent Calendar 2019 [14]
Category: Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas Eve, Christmas traditions, D/s, Daddy/boi, Father Christmas - Freeform, Gen, James is a child, Non-Sexual Age Play, Santa Claus - Freeform, Sleepovers, Taskmaster Advent Calendar, absolutely obnoxious fluff, personifications of Christmas, staying up late, waiting to see Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21791206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: Dec 14: Secret SantaThe best thing about Christmas Eve is that Lord Greg gets to play Santa for his boys.
Series: Taskmaster Advent Calendar 2019 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558771
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	The First Spirit Of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my brain is just on a roll for interpreting the prompts I chose in weird and obscure ways, so. Here we go again. XD 
> 
> [Table of prompts is here.](https://3evilmuses.dreamwidth.org/84753.html) Feel free to make requests if you see a prompt you like and want me to write you a fic. <3

Greg checked one more time, opening the door a crack to make sure all his boys were fast asleep. He listened for a moment, just in case anyone stirred at the sound, but there was silence, save for their breathing. They were all properly asleep, as they should be, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, or on the sofa. He smiled. He loved seeing them all together like this. Christmas Day was going to be amazing. 

Closing the door to the lounge, Greg quietly made his way back to his room to grab the bag filled with their presents so he could go put them under the tree. Perhaps it was silly to be doing this with grown adults, but Alex adored it, and so did some of his younger boys, and really, it just made everyone so happy to get excited about Christmas like they did when they were kids. James, particularly had come to adore it, and seemed to be making up for all the Christmases he'd never got to have. 

James was the reason he bothered dressing up as Father Christmas at all, even if no one saw him, just to make it feel real. He'd eat the cookies, and the milk – or whisky, depending on who put out the food that night – and just indulge in the joy of filling the tree with presents. All his boys slept over on Christmas Eve, and they had games, and movies, and all sorts of other fun things before Greg made them go to bed just before midnight, because Father Christmas wouldn't come if they were still awake after midnight. Greg never expected that rule to actually work, but it did. Even James obeyed that one without question. 

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, praying he'd been as quiet as possible, he saw a light coming from the guest lounge, where the Christmas tree had been put up. Everyone had come over a week ago to decorate it, and it looked magnificent. Now all it needed was the presents. 

There were some there already from the boys, of course, for each other, and for Greg. He just had to put his own gifts down and he could finally go to bed. The light caught his attention as he got to the doorway and saw a figure in a long green robe standing by the tree. Alright. So that wasn't one of the boys like he'd assumed.

"And who the fuck are you?" Greg said, not pleased that someone had broken into his house. 

The figure turned around and now Greg was sure he was tripping. He seemed to be about Alex's age, with long curly dark hair, a much better beard, and had a wreath of holly in his hair. He smiled and did not seem to have noticed Greg's displeasure.

"Ahh! Here he is! Santa himself! I did wonder if I hung around long enough, I'd see him. And are you the real Santa? Or does he not exist anymore?" the man said.

Greg was now thoroughly confused. "No, seriously, who the fuck are you, and how did you get into my house?" 

The man brought an arm around his shoulder. "Hush, the boy is sleeping. We shouldn't wake him up, should we?" 

Greg's attention was now drawn to the gangly form of James, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, clutching a blanket close around him. "Okay, I am sure I put him to bed an hour ago. How did he get down here?" 

"He's a sneaky one, that boy. You'd best look out for him. Ooh, and are those presents? Come, come, let's put them under the tree, then we can go to the next house," the man said.

Greg was too confused to say anything, not just because James might wake and hear him, and he didn't want that. He let the man take his hand and draw him over to the tree, where there were a whole bunch of presents there that had not been there before. 

"Alright, I don't know who you are, but you are getting the fuck out of my house, alright?" Greg said as he knelt down to put out his presents. 

"Oh, tosh! You would kick out Father Christmas? That's the way to get nothing but bad luck, my boy!" the man said, and he laughed, and Greg wanted to hit him until he realised what he'd said.

"You're Father Christmas? Really?" Greg said. "I thought that was just another name for Santa Claus."

"The very one, sir!" the man said, giving a flourishing bow. "And I was around long before Santa ever existed."

"Daddy? Is that you?" James said quietly before Greg could reply. 

Greg looked over at the sofa and saw James sitting up, rubbing his eyes. "Daddy? S-Santa? What's going on?"

Father Christmas went over to James and knelt down beside him. "Hush, child, or you'll spoil the magic!" 

"S-Santa? Oh, oh, am I awake when Santa's come?" James said, sitting up, sounding more fully awake. 

"I'm not Santa, I'm Father Christmas," the man whispered to him. "Now, go back to sleep, and there'll be presents waiting for you when you wake up, alright?"

James furrowed his brow, looking confused. "Father Christmas? But you're not Father Christmas. _That's_ Father Christmas," James said, gesturing at Greg, who was standing far enough into the shadows that James almost believed it wasn't him. 

"No, boy, that's Santa. I'm Father Christmas." Father Christmas kissed his cheek. "Now, what did I say, boy? Go on, run along, go back to your bed. The magic doesn't work if you see it all, does it? This is just a special surprise just for you, because you believe in me."

James could not contain his excitement as he scrambled to his feet. "Oh! Oh! Oh, yes, yes, I'll go to bed! I promise!" 

Greg watched James scurry off upstairs to bed, and he did feel a little bad for disturbing him, but he seemed to be so excited now, and he didn't want to spoil that for him.

"Well. I guess we'd better empty these sacks, because I've got so many more houses to visit tonight. You'd better hurry too. Your reindeer are getting restless on the rooftop," Father Christmas said as he left two final presents under the tree.

Greg immediately looked up at the ceiling, and he was sure he heard hooves up there, which seemed very odd. But when he looked down again, he was alone in the room, and all the food had been eaten, with nothing but a small bough of holly left behind on the plate. 

"Fucking hell. No way did that just happen. I clearly drank too much tonight," Greg said as he returned to his work. 

He was tired, now that he thought about it, as he stood up and turned to leave the room. He turned back and picked up the holly and then made his way back up the stairs. He noticed the door to the lounge was slightly ajar, and he peered in to see James asleep where he should be. James was just close enough for Greg to tuck the holly under his pillow before he crept out as silently as he'd entered, finally able to go to bed. 

Sure, James would be an excitable puppy when he found it, but he guessed the holly was for him, so he saw no reason not to give it to him. Roll on Christmas Day, Greg thought, as he settled down in bed. He could've sworn he heard sleigh bells, but of course that was just a story, wasn't it? 


End file.
